Shakespeare and the DeLusting Potion
by Femme Teriyaki
Summary: Got lust? Get potion.
1. Default Chapter

Shakespeare

and the

De-Lusting

Potion

By Femme Teriyaki

Disclaimer:

- These characters are the figment of J. K. Rowling's imagination. I do not claim to own these characters.

Summary:

- After realizing her relationship with Ron is going down the drain, Hermione decides she'd rather not be in love—or in lust—with Ron. From that moment on, she sets out to make a De-Lusting Potion, while all around her things get crazier and crazier. Why else would Ron be reading Shakespeare?

Chapter One:

Pixies, Elves, and _Hogwarts a History_

"You swallowed it!" screamed Hermione, frantically rushing around the Gryffindor Common Room, her head in her hands. "I can't believe you _swallowed _it!"

"It looked good!" shrugged Ron, not quite realizing the importance of what was now on its way through his digestive tract and trying (not very hard) to concentrate on his Potions book. "Besides, it can't be all that important if it was just lying around like that, right?"

"It was _very_ important, Ron; it was for the pixies!" Hermione replied, in apparent anguish. "One would think that it would occur to you to figure out what something _is_ before you pop it in your mouth!"

"I thought it was candy!"

Harry simply sat on the couch, scratching away at his DADA Essay on the Unforgivable Curses, and laughing to himself. He was used to the sound of all this fighting—it had been happening nonstop ever since Hermione and Ron started dating, and he wasn't all that surprised that Ron had eaten the pixie food. He didn't want to be the one to tell Hermione that he had been eating it for the past week.

Hermione wandered over to the pixies' cage, where they were going berserk. "Look at them, they're starving, Ron..." she cooed sympathetically, "and it's all _your fault _too."

"D'you want me to _apologize_ to the pixies?" asked Ron incredulously, still chewing on their mid-afternoon snack.

"That would be like asking the Trojans to apologize to the Greeks," Hermione seethed as the pixies ricocheted off the walls in their cages.

"What?" asked Ron.

Harry declined to listen as their fight, like all their other fights, raged on and on and on… 7th year and nothing had changed at all. They'd started seeing each other seriously the year before; Harry hadn't known how to feel about it. Now, like all other things, he'd gotten used to it.

As he was writing all he knew about _The Killing Curse_ and hoping nobody would include him in their essay, he felt a persistent tugging on his ear. "Ouch!"

"RON!" shouted Hermione, and Harry turned just in time to see the pixies flying lose around the room, though most of them were headed out the door.

"Oops!" Ron replied, leaping all across the room to try and catch the Cornish pixies. By the time one had flown up his nose, McGonagall had appeared at their door and there was an unmistakable noise that brought a wide, mischievous grin to Ron's face, despite the pixie struggling to get out of his nostrils. "Hear that?" he smiled.

"What?" Hermione asked, stunning a pixie and watching drop to the ground. Upon seeing McGonagall, she quickly put her wand on the table and fixed her posture.

"Snape—that's Snape. _Screaming_," he said gleefully, as Snape rushed past their door, two pixies taking him by the ears and carrying him down the hall.

"Oh, _Ron_," Hermione sighed.

"You three," McGonagall snapped, "why on earth have you got pixies loose in the Common Room? If you can't control them, then obviously you shouldn't have them—"

_Splat._

"Ron, that's _Hogwarts a History!_ That's my favorite page!" shouted Hermione, seemingly on the verge of tearing Ron to pieces. Ron had smashed a Cornish pixie between page 234 and 235.

Harry didn't want to know which page it was—he wanted a way out of the Common Room. Unfortunately, with McGonagall blocking the door, there wasn't one, and he _definitely_ didn't want to be present for this fight.

"Miss Granger!" barked McGonagall, "I would appreciate if you would _remove_ the pixies from your room and give them to Hagrid."

"Very well, Pro—"

Ron leapt into the conversation. "But they're not her pixies, Professor, they're… they're Flitwick's. He asked us to keep them for him… and… we had no place to put them… so…."

McGonagall looked skeptical, but even so, she accepted the story, walking out of the doorway and into the hall, where Madam Pomfrey was rushing to the aid of a shouting Snape.

"Why'd you tell her they were Flitwick's pixies?" asked Hermione, no longer upset so much as angry.

"Because," began Ron, the pixie having escaped from his nose, "I couldn't think of another teacher. Besides, you should be glad. Now none of us are getting in trouble."

"We weren't going to get into any trouble; you heard McGonagall—she only wanted them out of the Common Room. Now you've done it; what are we to do when she asks Professor Flitwick about them and she finds out you just lied to her? Ron, do you ever think?"

Before Ron could answer her question, Hermione had stomped angrily out of the room, Crookshanks following close behind her.

"_Women_," he grumbled, turning back to Harry. "I tell you this, Harry: _never_ get a girlfriend—ever. They're nothing but trouble and _hell_ to talk to."

"What _are_ we going to do?" asked Harry. He had abandoned his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay for later since it wasn't due until the following Thursday and couldn't concentrate besides.

"What do you mean?"

Harry glanced back at the doorway, remembering Hermione's words. "When McGonagall asks Flitwick about the pixies—what are we going to do?"

"Doesn't matter," Ron replied nonchalantly, "she's probably not going to, and if she's planning to, she's so busy, she'll probably forget. Wait till one of the Slytherins breaks something in the Great Hall—_then_ she'll forget all about us."

"And Hermione?" asked Harry, noting the trail of cat hair leading through the door and figuring that Hermione had probably gone to the library.

"Oh, she'll come round, Harry, don't worry," said Ron, just as dismissively, blowing his nose and checking the tissue to make sure there were no little bits of wing in it. "She's not even mad at you, so you've nothing to worry about."

"Well, she's plenty mad at you," noted Harry, wondering exactly how long this thing between Ron and Hermione would last.

"Like I said," Ron shrugged, "she'll come round."

---

"Ooh, Harry—I don't think I've ever been as mad as at anyone in my life! He's so infuriating—he doesn't seem to care about anything I care about and I'm sure he means well, but… Harry, I don't know what to do!"

Harry looked at Hermione and then at the clock on the wall; "I'm so sorry, Hermione, but—"

"What?" she asked, looking up from her examination of pages two-hundred-thirty-four and two-hundred-thirty-five.

"I've got to go to Divination, but I promise, I'll talk to Ron—this whole thing will work out," he said.

Hermione smiled. "You're absolutely the best, Harry," she said, throwing her arms around him, "I'll find someway to repay you."

---

In the depths of the kitchens, Dobby and Harry were staring at Ron. "Ron, you know _nothing_ about love," Harry said honestly. "You know _less_ than nothing—the amount of knowledge you have about love, would _empty_ a coffee cup."

"Why are we here?" asked Ron.

Dobby hopped up onto the table; "Dobby will be honest with you—Dobby's relationship with Winky may not be the most perfect relationship, but Dobby and Winky are doing probably better than you and Hermione."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Ron persisted.

"Winky and Dobby know _a lot_ about love," Dobby continued. "Winky and Dobby may seem like mere house elves to you—and though we have our differences about the F-word—"

"F-word?" asked both Harry and Ron.

"Freedom," Dobby explained. "Dobby and Winky maintain a healthy, loving, _respectful_ relationship."

"I'm getting romantic advice from a house-elf," Ron said. "You've got to be kidding me." After a moment of silence, he conceded. "OK, elf, what do you have to teach me?"

8


	2. Got Lust?

Chapter Two:

Got Lust?

"I need a De-Loving Potion," Hermione sighed in the library, unable to concentrate on Arithmancy at all. Ginny was sitting beside her working on her Potions homework, "deeply involved," but able to overhear Hermione all the same.

"For what?" she asked.

Hermione only ignored her as she continued to drown in melancholia. "You know what—it's not even really, _love_, I'm sure. It's lust. I need a De-Lusting Potion."

"Is there any such thing?" Ginny asked, slightly confused, but persisting with her questions though Hermione continued not to hear a word she said.

"I'm inventing the De-Lusting Potion—'Got Lust? Get Potion!' That's what the commercial is going to say, definitely, definitely…"

"Commercial?" said Ginny, more bewildered than ever.

"I'll be De-Lusted if it's the last thing I do!" declared Hermione, gathering together all her materials, and rushing out of the library, the gears in her head turning impossibly fast as the thought of being De-Lusted grew and grew.

"What's she got to be _De-Lusted_ for?" Ernie Macmillan muttered in his corner of the library.

---

"No one ever said there'd be homework," Ron groaned as he dumped the load of books onto his bed in the dormitory, then collapsing onto the bed beside them. "And what's all this supposed to teach me about love anyway? I don't even know who this Spooks-Spears guy is."

"That's William Shakespeare," Harry said grinning from ear to ear. "I thought of it the minute Dobby said, 'To flee or not to flee.'"

"Whatever," Ron shrugged. "But I've got to _read_ all this? You're kidding me—I've got too much homework as it is, seeing as how this is the year Snape decided to _really_ hate me instead of _practice _hating me."

"Do you want to work things out with Hermione?" said Harry, his expression suddenly becoming serious. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he would usually be off practicing Quidditch with the rest of the team, but it had been cancelled, so now he was inside teaching Ron about Shakespeare, which he thought he'd never do.

"Of course I want to work things out with Hermione," Ron replied sullenly, looking around, "I just don't want to have to _read_ to do it."

Harry couldn't hold back a grin. "Just pick one—I picked all the romantic ones… I think."

"Where'd you get all these anyway? They wouldn't be in _our_ library, if they're by some old, dead Muggle, would they?" mentioned Ron, picking at the dirt underneath his fingernails.

"I borrowed them… from Pansy Parkinson," he laughed. "Now, start reading—I want you to be spouting quotations by the time we get back to class on Monday."

Ron reluctantly picked up the copy of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, and began reading the first page. Before long, he had turned to Harry again. "Wait… so Pansy Parkinson's touched this?"

"Just read it."

---

Ginny rushed through the halls, insatiably curious. _What on earth is a De-Lusting Potion?_ Suddenly, she stopped and backtracked, unsure if she had seen what she thought she had seen. _Was that Ron—reading a book?_ Ginny continued onward, knowing that she had to keep going—she had to know what a De-Lusting Potion was… and, just maybe, where she could get one.

"If there really is such thing as a De-Lusting potion," Ginny thought, "then I really do need one. I mean, doesn't every girl need a De-Lusting potion?" Now the commercial slogans were running through Ginny's head: _The De-Lusting Potion—every girl needs one—for those pesky feelings that just won't go away!_

And did Ginny _ever_ know about those pesky feelings! As a matter of fact—

_Smash._

The noise was coming from Hermione's dormitory, and Ginny, knowing Hermione, knew that something odd must be occurring. Usually, Hermione was reading or doing miscellaneous homework—both quiet activities. Ginny had to remind herself that snooping was immoral—but she was there anyway—so what was the point in turning back now? Exactly. And Hermione _was_ there, so it wasn't snooping, not at all.

"Hermione?" Ginny whispered, sticking her head through the door. Ginny was shocked and appalled: there was Hermione, refined and dignified—chasing Crookshanks, who had an entire package of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans in his mouth, around the room. "Hermione?" repeated Ginny warily.

"Oh, Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione. "Thank goodness you're here—I could definitely use your help. You have absolutely no idea…"

"Do I want to know?" asked Ginny. Inside she was screeching: _Yes! I want to know! Tell me, tell me, tell me—what's a De-Lusting Potion???_

Hermione sat down on her bed and Ginny rushed through the door and quickly pulled up a chair, intensely interested. "I'm making a De-Lusting Potion—but please don't go telling everyone: this is a one-time thing."

"Oh, oh, _of course_," Ginny agreed eagerly, happy just to be part of it. "Now, what _is_ a De-Lusting Potion? Oh, let me guess—you're trying to fall out of love with Ron—is that it?"

"Lust—I'm trying to fall out of _lust_ with Ron," Hermione corrected emphatically. "There's a quite a difference," Hermione explained.

"Oh, of course, but how on earth can I help you?" asked Ginny, her subconscious squealing: _And if I do, may I please, please, please use some? Please???_

"Well, Ginny," Hermione sighed, "I've made a list."


	3. Of Lists, Lusts, and Love Notes

Chapter Three:

Of Lists, Lusts, and Love Notes 

It was by far the strangest list Ginny had ever read, but did it matter? If these were the volatile, dangerous, yet oh so romantic ingredients of the De-Lusting potion, then Ginny had no choice but to retrieve them—in the name of love.

"I've arranged them in the order they must be retrieved—some of them are only very useful for a short while, so those are at the bottom of the list and they should be retrieved last. I'll take half of the list and you'll take the other half. I'd prefer that you'd start first, since you'll have less homework. I've already retrieved the first item."

"Oh yes," Ginny agreed, "I understand completely."

Hermione smiled and Ginny left the room, beaming with her copy of the list in hand, on her way to Divination. She reread the list several times and nodded her head: this seemed absolutely perfect. She knew she could trust Hermione to make a De-Lusting Potion that worked!

Despite the fact that it had never been done before, of course.

_De-Lusting Potion 1.0_

_Earwax Flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean_

_Violin string _

_Wood pulp (preferably of love note)_

_Lock of hair—this is volatile_

_1 frozen Ashwinder egg_

_An article of clothing belonging to OOL_

_A pair of doxy wings_

_Phoenix ash_

_One tub of extra-strength hair gel_

_13 individual demiguise hairs._

Only when she read the second item on the list was she discouraged—did she know anyone who played the violin? As Ginny wandered up the stairs to the Divination room, she began to feel more and more let down—there would be no de-lusting, and she would forever stay in lust with—

_Squeak._

_Creak… creak… squeak._

From the Divination room there was a restless squeaking, which quickly interrupted Ginny from her thoughts of unrequited lust. It sounded quite like someone was murdering a cat—or running a goat over with tractor—or beating Neville with a broom while he was bound and gagged and on laughing gas.

The door flew open the instant Ginny got near enough to hear properly. Professor Sybill Trelawney in swathes of purple was floating around the room, eyes closed, looking more bug-like than ever, with a violin in hand. "Da-dee, da-dee, da-DUM, da-da, da-dee, da-dee, da-DUM, da-da, da-dee…" she hummed as she waltzed across the room. "Oh, Dumbly, you're DEVINE... you send shivers down my SPINE… Oh how I wish that you were MINE, my Dumbly, my Dumbly…"

Luckily for Ginny, the door slammed shut before she could hear: "Oh, Dumbly… quite humbly… when you're near my heart goes numbly…"

"Oh my," murmured Ginny before she rushed downstairs, deciding she would wait a while before returning to the Divination classroom.

"Dumbly, my Dumbly, I ask of you of quite humbly, release my heart, oh, Dumbly, do…" was the verse Trelawney had just finished singing when Ginny returned into the classroom, unpleasantly surprised to find the violin gone.

---

Later that day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered into the Potions classroom. Not together, of course. Hermione had gotten to class early and another pixie had found its way up Ron's nose, so he and Harry had been late. Snape had yelled at them for the three minutes he required of himself and then told them to stand for the entire period—which today would last one hour. No slouching.

And through the entire period they could faintly make out the words: "Not a word can I utter, without melting like butter, my heart begins to flutter…"

Hermione had looked back at them once, full of pity, but after a while, she had made herself stop by repeating the effective mantra of: _De-Lust! De-Lust! De-Lust!_

Snape wandered around the classroom, sniffing at people and making sure they were putting the right amount of toxic materials into their potions, spreading the scent of Melvin Klein Wizarding Cologne. He had read in his latest self-help book—just one in a fascinating collection—that wearing cologne boosts confidence, so this morning he had happily slathered it on over his _Eau de Mordu _and waltzed into class über-confident and raring to go. He was also mentally repeating his self confidence mantra of the week.

"Open your textbooks to page _three-HUNDRED-and-fifty-TWO—_"

­_Because I'm sexy._

"—and read passages one through six—"

_Because I'm sexy._

"—then close your books and return your attention to me."

_Because I'm sexy._

_Believe it, Snape, believe it!_

It was working already.

"Harry," Ron whispered, staring as the fluid in his cauldron turned bright pink, "how is all this Shakespeare supposed to help with me and Hermione—she won't even look at me!" As Ron spoke the pink fluid sloshed onto his shirt and burned a heart-shaped hole in it. It was almost cute. But not.

"Hermione loves Shakespeare," Harry whispered as quietly as he could, noting that the heart-shaped hole was turning in to a fish-shaped one. "Write her a note." Harry handed Ron his quill.

"Er—Dear Hermione—"

The quill began scratching on the piece of paper on the ground: _My dearest, darling Hermione_, it read, so far, making Harry wonder if, supposing Ron actually gave the note to Hermione, she would even for a second believe that he had actually written it.

"Ron, don't tell me you've cast that foul spell of Rita Skeeter's on that quill," Harry sighed.

"It's helpful you know—makes for good Divination essays," Ron shrugged. Ever since Trelawney had been reinstated, (Firenze had retreated back to the Forbidden Forest after he realized how little the art of Divination was respected at Hogwarts) Ron had realized that she couldn't really tell the difference. He watched as the quill penned: _My dearest, darling Hermione, passion of my life—_

"Good grief," Harry groaned as the quill continued to scratch away at the piece of paper. Ron only nodded his head as he continued to dictate to it.

"I'm—er—really sorry—" he said, which readily produced: _My days and nights have been filled with the deepest regret._

"—I wish you would talk to me—" became: _If you would but look my way, the world and its wrongs would be instantly righted…_

Harry looked away, sure that the quill would do just as good a job without his staring at it. Snape was grimly discussing the effects of the potion—and casually mentioning that if it had turned pink then twenty points would be deducted from the grade.

"Here—take it," Ron said, shoving the note into Harry's hands, causing him to spill his bottle green potion onto the floor and onto Snape's shoes.

"I see Potter sees it fit _not_ to pay attention in class," Snape hissed. "What's this Potter? Has Potter got a love note? Hand it here."

Harry reluctantly gave Snape the note.

"Oh, how sweet," Snape smirked. "You won't mind if I read it aloud, will you? I'm sure Miss Granger is _dying_ to hear the contents." Snape had already begun reading before Harry could say a word.

"_My dearest, darling Hermione, passion of my life,_

"_My days and nights have been filled with the deepest regret; if you would but look my way, the world and its wrongs would be instantly righted. My heart belongs to you only, but—alas!—it seems you do not know it. So I leave you now, with the words of a poet—"_

"Ron!" muttered Harry under his breath.

"I couldn't help myself," Ron replied.

"_But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? _

_It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! _

_Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, _

_Who is already sick and pale with grief _

_That thou her maid art far more fair than she. _

_Be not her maid, since she is envious. _

_Her vestal livery is but sick and green, _

_And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off. _

_It is my lady. O, it is my love! _

_O that she knew she were!"_

"I never knew you were so sweet, Potter," Snape seethed. "Detention!"

7


	4. The Second Item

Chapter Four:

The Second Item

Trelawney had a violin and Ginny needed a violin. So naturally, it would be justified if, in the middle of the night, she snuck into the Divination room and… _borrowed_ the violin! Justified. Entirely.

It was nearly midnight. Ginny lay awake, staring at the clock as the hour hand slowly inched closer and closer to the twelve. "C'mon, c'mon…" she whispered encouragingly. She had long since decided that any time before twelve would be too early—one never knew what Professor Trelawney would be up to at odd hours of night.

Ginny took her time sneaking down the halls, careful not to make much noise. She'd already noted that Trelawney's door was bewitched to open when anyone got close enough, which she thought was kind of (well, incredibly) stupid and slightly dangerous, but accepted since it would take the "breaking" out of "breaking and entering."

She quickly came to the bright purple door and stepped inside. Trelawney was happily snoring on a purple foldaway couch in the corner, mumbling something about bees, clover, and the end of the world. The violin sat on the table to her left.

"Dumbly, Dumbly, Dumbly—you make me so mumbly… no, crumbly… so bumbly… oh Dumbly…" muttered Trelawney, shifting on the lumpy sofa.

Ginny swiftly snuck past her and snatched the violin off the table, looking around cautiously to make sure that Trelawney wasn't awake, or, as she had always secretly believed, that the Ministry of Magic wasn't secretly spying on her. "That was easy," she thought suspiciously. "Too easy."

She dropped the violin on her toe.

"That's better."

She bent down to pick it up, checking to make sure all the strings were intact, and then, suddenly, in the corner, something caught her eye. Professor Trelawney's crystal winked back at her, illuminated by the light of the moon, almost hypnotic as it rested on its purple, metallic cradle. It was radiant and it was calling to her—had she ever _really _seen anything in that crystal ball—anything significant? Perhaps, tonight,—perhaps tonight she would find her inner eye—perhaps she possessed The Sight! Ginny peered closer and closer into the swirling mass of fog that was accumulating within the orb…

Ginny walked away with an all-encompassing knowledge, not of the secret to world-peace, the end of the world, or the location of a portal to all evil, but of the need… the universal need for Ron to wash his socks.

---

"That was humiliating," Harry moaned as he woke up the next morning, the embarrassment of the previous day's Potions class still very much with him. "Why couldn't you just hold the note?"

"What? And get humiliated myself?" retorted Ron, forcefully yanking on a particularly festive pair of hot pink socks. "Not a chance, mate—sorry."

"Sweet on Hermione, Potter?" called Seamus's voice from the door. "Too bad; I hear she's still got a thing for Krum." This was followed by scattered laughter and Harry burying his face in his pillow.

"Tell me we don't have Double Potions today," he groaned.

"Erm…" stuttered Ron, scratching his head, "well, if it makes you feel any better, your potion ruined that pair of Snape's shoes permanently…, and Peeves has stolen all of Snape's Self-Help books and is chucking them out the window right now."

"Thanks," Harry grinned.

"No problem."

Harry spent the entire journey to Potions that day staring at his books, trying to avoid the stares and hoping that by concentrating hard enough, he could avoid the sound of the snickers that were sure to follow him all the way to Snape's classroom. He felt almost as if he were reliving his 4th year—and come to think of it, his 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th, and 6th too. It seemed there would always be a time when _someone_ was staring at him, for whatever reasons.

"Harry!" a voice called. Harry groaned inwardly, reluctantly turning around, sure it would be another person to ask him whether or not he was _madly, madly_ in love with Hermione. "Harry!" It was Hermione; he could only imagine what she would have to say to him. "Harry, I need to talk to you." There was a note reading: "_Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" _stuck to her back.

Harry turned to look at Ron, who grinned and nodded in understanding, continuing on to Potions, not wanting to be late again today.

"Harry—" Before Hermione could say anything, Harry reached around and tore the piece of paper off of her back, crumpling it and throwing it away.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Harry lied, "what did you want to talk to me about?" Only after hearing himself say the words did Harry realize just how stupid they sounded. Of course he knew what she wanted to talk about—why did he even ask?

"Well, it's about that note yesterday in Potions," she said, withdrawing a piece of paper from one of her books. "That horrible Skeeter woman has already managed to write an article about it—in record time."

Harry took the article, and cringed thinking of what it would say—more about him crying at night over his dead Mum and Dad?

Hogwarts' Shakespeare in Love?

By Rita Skeeter

_While the elusive Harry Potter has managed to dodge the Dark Lord on several occasions, he has not been able to doge the rumors about himself and the attractive young witch who is constantly in his company—Hermione Granger. By his side through all of the turmoil that Harry's life has brought, slowly, this friendship has evolved into something much more significant. _

"_They're definitely a couple," Parvati Patil, a student at Hogwarts, was reported as saying. "I mean, he wrote her a love note and everything."_

_As recently as Monday, the young, infatuated Potter was caught writing a heartfelt love note to Granger._

"My dearest, darling Hermione, passion of my life," _the note read_, "My days and nights have been filled with the deepest regret; if you would but look my way, the world and its wrongs would be instantly righted. My heart belongs to you only, but—alas!—it seems you do not know it. So I leave you now, with the words of a poet:

" 'But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief

That thou her maid art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid, since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

It is my lady. O, it is my love!

O that she knew she were!' "

_Is there any more proof of this love than that? This reporter needs no further convincing._

Harry looked up at Hermione, slightly mortified. "Hermione—I didn't write that note, Ron did. I mean, he cast a spell on it so it would sound—er—romantic," Harry explained. He suddenly noticed Hermione's slightly crestfallen face. "Oh, but the last part was Ron's. I mean, it was Shakespeare's, but he came up with, well… um…"

"Ron knows Shakespeare?" asked Hermione, incredulously, albeit happily.

"Well, um—yes." Harry decided he'd rather get to the point than stumbling over technicalities.

"Wow," Hermione smiled. "That's… wow," she beamed, and she continued on her way to Potions, muttering, "that's… that's really something…."

And while, Harry, knowing full well he should have been happier about the situation, wondered, if only faintly, whether or not he would have been happier just taking the credit and leaving it at that. But only faintly.

---

Later that day, Ginny joined Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the Great Hall. "Hermione," she said, smiling, then quickly giving her an urgent look while Ron and Harry dug into their treacle tarts, "I need to talk to you."

"Oh, of course," responded Hermione, giving her two friends quick glances, then excusing herself from the table. In the hallway just outside the hall, she was free to speak once more. "What is it?"

Ginny smiled: "I've got the violin, but it was no easy task, I assure you. The next item on the list is _yours_, for sure."

Hermione smiled and nodded, "You have no idea how much this means to me, Ginny, and don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you. Thanks to you, I'm 20 percent De-Lusted already."

Ginny nodded as well, "I'm glad I could help, no matter how _strange _all this is, but I hope you know I've got to return this violin tonight, before Professor Trelawney notices it's missing…"

"You took it from a teacher?" gasped Hermione, overcome with shock. "Imagine what would happen if she found out—"

"It's Trelawney—she'll think it's a sign from the Great Beyond telling her to stop playing," Ginny reasoned. "Oh, and I've got some fabulous news to tell you about her and Dumbledore…."


	5. Weasleys, Wizardry, and Wood Pulp

Chapter Five:

Weasleys, Wizardry, and Wood Pulp 

"Ron," Hermione smiled as she came back to the table, "I realize that I've entirely overreacted to the whole… pixie thing. I mean, it's a book… and though that book did…," she looked away for a moment, "mean a lot to me, I am willing to forgive you because," she smiled serenely, "our relationship means a lot to me too."

Ron nodded—not nearly as serenely—and shoveled another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. "Tanks," he mumbled.

_Now I _really_ want to be De-lusted_, Hermione thought with a slight frown on her face. The frown quickly returned to a smile as she turned back to Ron: "That note was really sweet, and, um, I was wondering if you could come with me… for a moment."

"OH," said Ron, leaping out of his chair, mashed potatoes still in his mouth. "I fink I'm about ta get snogged, mate. See ya after dinner?" he whispered to Harry, and Harry nodded, no longer feeling very hungry.

Ron followed Hermione to the Gryffindor Common Room, where all his books were sitting in a neat stack, his quills on top of them. "I'd like you to take that _foul_ spell off of your quill."

---

"No snogging!" complained Ron the next morning. "Not even the tiniest little snog! I ask you, Harry, what's the point of having a girlfriend if you don't get a little post-dinner snogging every once in a while? And pre-breakfast snogging—what about that?"

"I could talk to Hermione and convince her that you're dying for a cuddle," Harry suggested less-than-seriously.

"Oh, _would_ you, mate?" asked Ron quite seriously. "I'd be able to concentrate so much better, I'm sure—I haven't been able to sleep at all!"

"Maybe she's still mad at you," Harry said. "You never know—maybe you should give her a present or something, just in case she still is."

"No more reading Pansy Parkinson's nasty Skankspeare books, though, right? Those things were so bad— they guy couldn't spell. Everything they said was so dull: _Thou hast a dog who crappeth on thy shoe_."

Harry laughed, "We've got Care of Magical Creatures now."

"Good; a class that I'm not failing," Ron said, picking up his books, de-hexed quills, and rushing out the door with Harry alongside him. The class was being held where it had been held for the past year since Hagrid had been reinstated as Care of Magical Creatures Teacher: out on the grounds by his hut.

"Don't get too excited yet, Ron: it's another class we've got with Malfoy and those gits," Harry said.

"Ugh," Ron shuddered. "I bet that slimy prat will be late to class again today—too busy styling his hair. Ever notice how in the morning, Malfoy looks like he's got an overgrown ferret eating the lice off his head?"

Hermione stepped up beside him. "Jarvey. You mean he looks like he's got a Jarvey eating the lice off his head."

Ron goggled before realizing that, yes, Hermione really was there. "Why d'you _do_ that—it's bloody scary. You just up and pop out of _nowhere!"_

Hermione made no response and Harry tried to break the uncomfortable silence. "Aren't we studying demiguises today? That should be interesting."

Hermione looked up from her copy of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_, to look at Harry. "Demiguises? You're kidding me—handling demiguises requires specialist knowledge, and besides that, how on earth would Hogwarts get hold of a demiguise: they're practically impossible to catch."

"Maybe we're just reading about them," suggested Harry, and then, grinning, "and that'll _really_ depress Hagrid."

Hermione smiled. "If we are though, it'll be a real treat to actually _see _one—they're invisible most of the time. Oh, I hope you are right; they'll be so much more interesting than Bowtruckles."

"Most things are more interesting than Bowtruckles," Ron commented as the rest of the class appeared. He leaned in and whispered to Harry, "Hermione _is_ right—he does look like's he's got a Jarvey on his head. How much d'you want to bet that the only reason he's not failing Divination is because that thing tells him what to put in his essays? 'Hogwash!' and 'Oh! That's right—I think I'll put a whole lot of _hogwash_ in my essay! Thanks, Harvey the Jarvey!'"

"And the only reason _you've_ been passing Divination is because of your quill, isn't it?" remarked Hermione as she passed them.

Ron sneered as Harry said, "She's definitely mad at you."

"Why? What've I done?"

"She's probably mad you used that quill to write all that—the love note, you know? I think you should talk to her," Harry suggested as he opened his book.

"_Talk to her?_ Oh, no, mate—don't you know how dangerous that would be? I'd rather be eaten by a… a…," he glanced at his book, "an Erkling."

"You do know those are three feet tall, right?" laughed Harry, quickly turning to page 24 to read about Kneazles until Hagrid showed up.

"Ah, Potty and Weasel," a voice hissed—Malfoy's. "Trying to figure out which one of those animals is less attractive than you? You'll want to try a different book." Crabbe and Goyle, who stood behind him, snickered.

Harry turned around. "Well, _you're_ an animal, right? Or does that thing growing under your nose count as separate creature?"

"For your information, Potty," Malfoy said, turning around to make sure Crabbe and Goyle were laughing, "I'm growing a mustache."

Ron grinned, "Then you _were_ right, Harry. It _is_ a separate creature."

Harry was happy to see Hagrid arrive at last, lugging a large cage with a cloak cast over it behind him. This entrance was marked by loud whispers: "What's that?" "What's going on?" "Why is it in a cage?"

Malfoy was the first one to speak as usual. "I know what it is—it's probably Hagrid's girlfriend or something—what else would be that huge?"

Hermione at last jumped in to the conversation, unable to concentrate on Chapter Six of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ any longer. "Let me see: your ego, your dye-job, that enormous mole above your mouth that you're _calling_ a mustache—the list goes on and on." Several Gryffindors clapped as others whispered "Great girl Harry's got there" while Ron glared.

"Settle down, settle down," Hagrid called out. When nobody responded, the Slytherins kept snarling, and the Gryffindors kept clapping, Hagrid yelled, "I SAID SETTLE DOWN!" The class snapped into silence, Hagrid resumed. "There. Now, what I 'ave with me today is a demiguise. I've worked a long time getting it to trust me, so don't go frightening it, 'cause it'll disappear if you do that."

Hermione instantly raised her hand. "Hagrid, how did the school get hold of a demiguise—they're very rare and hard to catch, aren't they?"

"Actually this demiguise was sleeping when a bunch of Muggles found it—they were out… er… _camping_, you see," Hagrid explained.

"Dumb Muggles," Ron muttered, shaking his head while Hermione shot him a look.

"It had to be moved from its, er, habitat, so we're taking care of it until the Ministry o' Magic's Department for the, er, Regulation and Control o' Magical Creatures comes and picks it up," Hagrid explained.

Hermione nodded her head in understanding and the lesson began. While Hagrid discussed proper treatment of demiguises, Hermione wondered over her list. She'd managed to snatch the box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans out of Crookshank's mouth and Ginny had gotten the violin string—even if she had gotten it from a member of the staff—and now the next item on the list was "wood pulp of love note." There was one love note she knew of for certain, but where _was_ it? Did Harry have it or did Ron have it? And then her mind skipped ahead to the other items on the list—the demiguise hairs—how on earth was she supposed to get those? Demiguises were docile creatures, yes, but all the same, they _were_ invisible most of the time, and this demiguise would be on its way to the Ministry of Magic any day now. As if Hagrid would just let her open the cage, grab some tweezers, and be done with it.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you there? Class is over."

Hermione looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry. Right."

Ron shook his head, "I don't know _what's_ wrong with the world. Hermione wasn't paying attention in class? Never thought I'd see the day!"

---

That day at dinner, Hermione was lurking in the hallway when she ran into Ginny. "What're you doing? Aren't you hungry?"

"I just need something from Harry's room, that's all," Hermione explained. At Ginny's quizzical face, she further explained: "For the potion, Ginny—please cover for me."

"Sure thing, Hermione," Ginny agreed, nodding, and continued on her way to the Great Hall, leaving Hermione to get into the dorm room.

Hermione stared at the portrait for a while and then remembered what Ron had been muttering at breakfast. "Fizzing Whizbees," she said happily, and the door swung open.

"If I were Harry/Ron, where would I hide a love note?" thought Hermione, surveying the room. She checked all of Ron's shoes. Next she rifled through his closet, all unsuccessfully. Then, with a deep sigh, she crossed over to Harry's side of the room, checking all his clothing (blushing when she uncovered his boxers) and looking through all his schoolbooks. Finally she just plopped down on his bed, resigned. "Ouch!"

Under Harry's covers was a copy of _Romeo and Juliet_. Hermione picked it up and out fell the love note.

7


	6. Mistletoe and Pumpkin Pie

Chapter Six:

Mistletoe and Pumpkin Pie

Ginny knew by the grin on Hermione's face as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning that she'd retrieved the love note, and that meant that the next item on the list was hers to find. That meant that it was Ginny's duty to get the "volatile" lock of hair, while the question remained: whose hair? She couldn't wait to ask Hermione about it—she had to ask her that very moment, even if Harry and Ron were sitting right beside her.

"So, Hermione I'd LOVE to know how things turned out with your Arithmancy essay. Last I checked things were getting pretty HAIRY. I was going to ask one of your classmates, but I DON'T KNOW WHO," she said, smiling over the food at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione quickly realized what Ginny was trying to do. "Oh, well I'm pretty sure HARRY and RON were having the same problem with their Defense Against the Dark Arts essays. I'm not sure EITHER ONE OF THEM is done with it. I'M REALLY NOT SURE."

"WHY do you think they're having problems?" asked Ginny.

"They were supposed to take NOTES during the class, but they didn't. So they were supposed to borrow NOTES from someone in the class. I'M NOT ABSOLUTELY SURE WHO WROTE THE NOTES, BECAUSE YOU NEVER CAN BE SURE ABOUT THESE THINGS—"

"Hermione, _why_ are you yelling? Seamus is talking about the Chudley Cannons," Ron said.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized hastily, turning back to Ginny. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," Ginny said.

---

Later that day, Ginny stopped Harry as he was about to enter his dormitory. "Oh, Harry! What a surprise to see you here!" she laughed falsely. "Oh, gee, look what we're standing under," she said, pointing at the mistletoe above their heads.

"Why is that up there? Christmas was a month ago," Harry said, puzzled.

"I don't know," Ginny smiled, hoping he wouldn't notice the stapler that was missing from his room and the scissors she was hiding behind her back, "but I guess it's Fate!" Ginny grabbed Harry and kissed him, fumbling with the scissors over his head. _Oh God _she thought, _if someone sees this, they might tell—_

_Snip._

A lock of Harry's hair fell into Ginny's hand. She pulled away and stuffed her hands into her pockets. "Nice seeing you, Harry—er—Merry Christmas!"

---

Hermione was happily eating her pumpkin pie in the Great Hall when Harry came out with it: "Your sister kissed me," he said to Ron, "on the mouth. For a very long time." Hermione started gagging on her pumpkin pie.

Ron looked bewildered. "Ginny? Sorry, mate—she's a little hormonal right now—Hermione, are you all right? Hermione, you're turning this really pretty shade of purple—it's like puce only—"

"Hermione???" Harry rushed over to her to help her, but not before Colin Creevey did.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he declared valiantly, cheerfully, "I know the Heimlich maneuver!" He promptly tried to administer the maneuver to Hermione, who only started gagging more. "Or at least, I _think_ that's the Heimlich maneuver…"

"Oh, move over, Creevey—" said Harry.

"Oh, hi, Harry! You know, I've been meaning to congratulate you on not dying lately—it must be really hard for you—"

"Look!" someone shouted. "Granger's turning blue!"

Harry ignored them, gave Hermione a thump immediately below her breastbone, and the pumpkin pie flew out. Of course, by this time, Hermione was unconscious.

"Mauve—that's the color!" shouted Ron.

---

Hermione spent the afternoon in the Hospital Wing and Harry visited her immediately after Quidditch practice. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione replied, sitting up.

"Was it the pumpkin pie?" he asked, sitting down next to the bed.

Suddenly, a little creature hopped into the room. "Oh, Dobby _hopes_ it was not his pumpkin pie! Dobby makes _special_ pumpkin pie for Harry Potter and his friends—if Dobby has made Harry Potter's friend sick, then Dobby will have to shut his foot in the oven and swallow a sock!"

Dobby had Hermione's attention. "Oh, no, no, Dobby—you don't have to punish yourself anymore, remember? I _loved _your pumpkin pie."

Dobby grinned. "Now Dobby is very pleased, but Dobby still feels ashamed that Harry Potter's friend was sick while she ate Dobby's special pie. Dobby will do much to repay you."

Hermione smiled and Ron entered the Hospital Wing, bearing flowers. "Hey, Hermione, I hope you're feeling okay," he said awkwardly, plopping the flowers down on a table.

"Oh, Dobby," Hermione said, calling the little elf over to her, "There is something you could to do to repay me," she smiled and whispered her request in Dobby's ear.

"Oh yes, certainly!" agreed Dobby, hopping away happily as both Harry and Ron left the room, waving goodbye. Minutes later, Hermione heard Ron yelling "Get off me, you stupid elf!" and Dobby returned with a large chunk of red hair.

---

The next day, Hermione sat with Ginny in the library. "The next item on the list after the hair is one frozen Ashwinder egg, but I've no idea how to get one," Hermione explained.

Ginny looked confused. "What _is_ an Ashwinder?"

"Oh, it looks like a snake, but they only appear when Floo Powder fires have been left alone too long," Hermione explained quickly. "They only live for about sixty minutes, but they do lay eggs, and if you freeze them they're no harm—they'll set the whole area on fire otherwise. Haven't you learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures?"

"No," Ginny replied, "we're learning about Knarls. Why don't you just light a fire, dump some Floo powder in it, freeze the eggs, and be done with it?"

"Don't you think someone will notice, Ginny?" reasoned Hermione. "I'm sharing a room with Parvati, and she's sure to notice, and if I wait until after dark, don't you think I'll wake her up?"

"Do it anyway," Ginny said, thinking of the end results. All this trouble they were going to would be completely worth it if Hermione could just make that De-Lusting Potion. "I've gotten the lock of hair from Harry—"

"_That's_ why you kissed him?" asked Hermione, an expression of both incredible relief and incredulity on her face.

"So you've heard about it _already?" _groaned Ginny, slamming her book shut.

"Yep," smiled Hermione, "and Rita Skeeter will have her hands full with this one—_Harry Potter: Hopeless Romantic or Heartless Two-Timer?_"

"Oh yes—-_Mesmerized Under the Mistletoe_—it'll be a real joy to read," Ginny said sarcastically.

"Mistletoe?" asked Hermione. "Where on earth did you get mistletoe—Christmas was about a month ago."

"I took it from Draco's room—he's been growing it in his room since Third Year. He's got this cute little hat, and he's bewitched it so that whenever anyone comes within twenty feet of him, this little trap springs and the mistletoe flies out…"

5


	7. Boxers and Broomsticks

Chapter Seven:

Boxers and Broomsticks

Hermione wasn't about to miss the Quidditch match that Saturday—Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, the first game of the year. She arrived early, but not early enough: almost all the seats were already taken. She squeezed in next to Ron, who seemed to be goggling at something down on the field too hard to pay attention to much else. "The game hasn't started yet, has it?"

"No," Ron said, looking dazed. Hermione followed his gaze and wasn't surprised to find that he was staring at the newest addition to Hogwarts Quidditch: cheerleaders. Naturally, it had been Draco Malfoy who had suggested that the teams would have more spirit if they had cheerleaders.

"Stop that!" she said sternly, and Ron promptly put both his eyes back in his head.

Almost the instant he did, the game began and the cheerleaders started cheering enthusiastically: "H-A-R-R-Y—what does that spell—Harry!!!"

"You can tell they're all in love with him," Ron said, scowling slightly. "They'll be singing their song soon," he commented, slightly depressed now that he couldn't stare at the cheerleaders without Hermione whacking him.

"What s—"

"_We've got Harry Potter!_

_Could he get any hotter?_

_He's got the greenest eyes_

_And it comes as no surprise:_

_We all love his body!_

'_Cause he's such a hottie!  
He's at the top of his class!  
And he's got the greatest—"_

"Fifty points from Gryffindor if the cheerleaders don't sing something a _little_ more appropriate!" McGonagall called, grabbing the commentator's speaker and barking at the screaming cheerleaders.

"Oh. They have a song," said a sullen Hermione.

The game seemed to drag on and on for both Ron and Hermione, who only looked up every few seconds to make sure that the game was still going on and once when Cho Chang fell off of her broomstick. It quickly started raining and it was an hour before Gryffindor finally won as Harry captured the Snitch and the cheerleaders were content to start screaming again.

"Congratulations, Harry," said Hermione, perking up instantly at he thought of getting out of the rain and getting her robes dry, rushing over to him.

"Thanks," Harry grinned, wiping the raindrops from his glasses as the three of them went inside, a host of third years following them asking for Harry's autograph rather desperately, stalking them until they went up the stairs.

"If you thought this game was bad," Ron whispered to Hermione, "you won't want to come to the next game. Next game, when all the cheerleaders scream 'Could he get any hotter?' all the Gryffindor girls will scream: 'He couldn't if he tried.' And they're adding a verse about how if you look deep into his eyes, you can see the ocean."

"Oh please, Ron," Hermione groaned, not sure if he was being serious or not and looking around to see if Harry was listening. Instead, he was making a mad dash to the Common Room to pick up his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, which he had left there that morning.

"It's not that great, you know," Ron said, as he stopped outside his dorm, casually swatting at the mistletoe that continued to dangle above his head.

"What is?" asked Hermione, sounding distracted.

"His ass!" exclaimed Ron, frustrated that Hermione didn't know what he was talking about. A group of students walking down the hall quickly turned around and went in the other direction.

"Actually…" muttered Hermione, thinking about it, wondering why she hadn't predicted Ron's entirely predictable reaction to the situation any earlier.

"I mean, it's not like I've checked it out or anything…," Ron said, very uncomfortably, leaning on the dormitory door, "it's just…"

"Right, Ron… whatever," said Hermione as she walked away, happy to be both out of the rain and to have some time to herself for a while—perhaps time to start working on mixing the ingredients for her potion—she was forty percent De-Lusted and counting.

"Wait a minute—have you…?"

The door slammed Ron's purple face before she could even answer the question.

---

"What d'you mean I've got spattergoit?!" shouted an enraged Harry, sitting up straight in his bed. Hermione was looking down at him then looking back at her book in deep concentration.

"It's pretty clear, Harry—it doesn't look like smallpox," she said, "or chickenpox, and I'm positive it's not cowpox… and Ron's freckles can't be contagious…."

Ron forgot to be offended when he saw the remedy. "Oh, Harry, looks like you've got to go stand naked in the moonlight," laughed Ron, thoroughly amused.

"What d'you _mean_ I'VE GOT TO GO STAND NAKED IN THE MOONLIGHT???" shouted Harry, more enraged than ever. This one year, this one Voldie-free year, and he had to go and get spattergoit—Harry was beginning to think he was cursed. "Where did I even _get _spattergoit?" he wondered.

Hermione was still reading, her eyes fully concentrated on a dusty copy of _Thin Witch, Thick Witch; Healthy Witch, Sick Witch._ "You've got to be standing in eels' eyes, it says here… and it's got to be a _full_ moon… that's very important…."

"ABSOLUTELY NAKED?" repeated Harry, feeling absolutely baffled. He didn't feel comfortable about the prospect of standing out on the Quidditch field naked, or going anywhere naked—just the word "naked" was making him feel sick. "Not even boxers?"

"Nope," Hermione said, sounding completely unperturbed by the prospect, flipping a few pages ahead. "Not even the ones with the shamrocks on them—"

"How do YOU know about my Lucky Shamrocks?!" gasped Harry.

Hermione quickly changed the subject. "According to these lunar cycle charts, the next _full _moon is this Friday, Harry—you're in luck—"

"Yeah, how do _you_ know about Harry's Lucky Shamrocks?" asked Ron, turning on her, his face now matching the color of his hair.

Harry glared at the both of them with obvious fury. "How do you BOTH know—"

"Valentine's Day," Hermione said, cutting them both off, "the next full moon is Valentine's Day."


	8. Unexpected Developments

**Chapter Eight:**

**Unexpected Developments**

* * *

Hermione quickly rushed into the Charms classroom, enormous library book in hand, and sat down next to Harry. "Okay, Harry, I've been doing a lot of research and we're going to need eel's eyes, frog's liver, eye of newt, some chewing gum—" 

"Chewing gum?" Harry said incredulously, turning to face her. She was flushed from head to toe as if she had been running around madly gathering this information, which, Harry realized, she probably had been. He briefly imagined her in the library, tearing through page after page, books piled high in front of her—it wasn't a far stretch. He'd seen her go through the same process countless times, he thought with a fond grin.

"Yes, chewing gum," Hermione assured him with a smile. Suddenly her eyes lit up, as if she had been struck with a brilliant idea, which, Harry realized, she probably had been. "And, um, we'll also need one frozen Ashwinder egg."

Harry nodded seriously, "And we'll make Ron get that."

Hermione laughed at the idea of Ron falling over himself trying to get an Ashwinder egg from a Floo Powder snake. "I'll take care of the eel's eyes and the frog liver; you can get the eye of newt if you're feeling up to it. And I don't see how Ron can mess getting chewing gum, so that's his task too…. You'll be cured in no time," she smiled, nodding intently.

Harry grinned appreciatively. "Thank God for you, Hermione—I don't know what I'd do without you," he said, pulling her into an unexpected hug. Hermione, for a moment shocked, gave a little gasp, and then, biting her lip nervously, hugged him back, wondering why what she'd done countless times before made her feel so unsure now. _God, Hermione, who do you need this De-Lusting Potion for?_ In her mind she had meant it at a joke, but it suddenly seemed serious.

- - -

"Ginny!" Hermione called into the Gryffindor common room, her voice urgent. "Ginny!"

Ginny looked up from her game of Wizard Chess to see her bushy-haired friend in a panic, her normal calm seemingly overturned. She gave Dean a look and left the table, joining Hermione just outside. "What is it, Hermione? You look awful." It was the truth: Hermione looked positively sick.

"Ginny, what did it… um… I mean to say, what was it… um… what was it like when you were… in… and… oh God, I can't even say it," Hermione mumbled helplessly.

"What was it like when I was… possessed?" asked Ginny, frowning, completely unsure of what Hermione was talking about. She quickly glanced back at Dean who was looking absolutely crestfallen that Ginny had left the room.

"Yes!" shouted Hermione, having finally hit on the perfect word. "What was it like when you were possessed?"

"By Lord Voldemort," Ginny finished uncertainly, wondering where this conversation was going. Could Hermione possibly think that she was possessed by a force of pure evil?

"NO! By Harry!" she whispered, her voice completely panicked.

"Possessed by _Harry_?"

Hermione nodded weakly. Ginny quickly realized the problem and grabbed her friend's hand, leading her up the stairs to the girl's dorms so that they could speak in private. Standing outside the Gryffindor common room was not the best way to deal with this situation—supposing there was even a _good_ way to deal with this situation. But then, Ginny had always known this day would come: she'd been predicting it ever since the beginning, but she had seen it most clearly in the fifth year when she'd seen it fit to finally give up on Harry. In fact, it was the very reason she had given up on Harry. It was obvious to her that there would always be someone more important in Harry's life and that even if she and Harry did end up together, to him she'd always be second place.

Hermione threw herself on Ginny's bed in despair. "I don't know what's wrong with me!" It wasn't completely true: she knew exactly what was wrong with her and it scared her beyond all reason, a thought which was frightening in itself—a Hermione without reason? She could almost picture Ron running around Hogwarts screaming his bright-red head off.

Ginny shut the door behind her and looked at the distressed Hermione before her. "I think we've already established what's wrong with you, and don't worry, it's a common affliction."

"I know, I know, I know," Hermione said, howling into Ginny's pillow, thinking of all the cheerleaders and crazed fan-girls screaming Harry's name, hoping desperately she didn't become one of them.

"Now, I'm guessing you just want to be sure of what's going on, right?" Ginny asked to Hermione's nodding head, which was already agreeing to what she was saying. "Okay, okay… well, first things first: are you nervous around him?"

Hermione nodded, thinking of earlier that morning in Charms. "And I never have been before—it's horrible! It's like having pixies in my stomach!"

"Are you jealous over him?" asked Ginny, creating a list in her mind of questions to ask, remembering how she had always felt around the Boy Who Lived.

"I was sent to the hospital wing when I found out you kissed him, what do you think?" sighed Hermione. She felt like violently banging her head into Ginny's bedpost. "Why, why, why—WHY have I never noticed this before, Ginny, what's _wrong_ with me? Why didn't I see it?" She was silent a moment. "But it doesn't matter why I didn't see it, Ginny, it'd be so much trouble—there'd be so much trouble. I can't do this; I can't be in love with him."

"And why not?" It was a question Ginny never thought she'd ask. Two years ago she would have been delighted to know that Hermione refused to love Harry, but she'd very clearly and decidedly moved on with her life. It'd been years and now her affections were very clearly directed at—

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Hermione, interrupting Ginny's thoughts. "Maybe I never should have started with this stupid De-Lusting Potion business after all. As I see it now, the best thing there could be for me is to stay with Ron. With Ron there are no complications, no problems." Ginny gawked at her in complete disbelief. "I mean, _yes_, there _are_ problems _within_ the actual relationship, but those problems I can deal with—I've been dealing with them for a year now, haven't I? But I knew Harry could take it… he'd never complain or say anything… But if I'd chosen Harry in the first place, Ginny, everything with him and Ron would be ruined by now."

"So you put Ron first," murmured Ginny thoughtfully, looking absently out her window, thinking on what Hermione had just said.

"No, I put Harry first." Ginny whipped her head around, her eyes coming to focus on Hermione again. "I know he couldn't bear it if he and Ron stopped being friends—it was bad enough fourth year, I didn't want to put him through that again and not over me."

Ginny frowned once more, seeing the problem in full now. She came to sit next to Hermione on her bed. "So what are we going to do?" she asked.

"I think the only thing we can do," Hermione replied, shaking her head not in dissent but in a horrible confusion. "Ginny, I've got to get De-Lusted off of Harry—it's the only way any of this can turn out right."

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but she quickly clamped it shut again. Hermione knew what she had to do and as her friend Ginny needed to let her do it. But by God, Ginny knew what she had to do too.

- - -

Harry sat in his room, quill and parchment before him, all set to do his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, but every time he put his quill to the paper, he heard Hermione's voice, the little gasp she gave when he hugged her. He was puzzled. For a moment he thought of asking Hermione's advice, something he'd always done, before he realized that this was _about_ her in the first place. It was just that asking Hermione about things he didn't understand was a habit… and hugging her… hugging her was a habit too. They'd always been close like that, hadn't they? It hadn't disturbed either one of them before. So why was it that—

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind. It was an hour until midnight and he knew he'd best get at least a start on his essay. "If only I could think," he murmured to himself.

"Jesus, mate, how am I supposed to sleep with you muttering all the time!" snapped Ron, shooting straight up out of bed.

"Oh, sorry," apologized Harry, turning around to look at his friend. To tell the truth, he had quite forgotten he was there.

- - -

Ginny was amazed by how much time you could spend in the library without learning anything. She'd spent almost the entire lunch there now, as she had done with breakfast, and nothing had come of it. Ever since she'd talked to Hermione in her room the day before, ever since she'd discovered her friend's reasoning for shying away from Harry, she'd done nothing but research, and it was research that was getting her nowhere. Well, it was getting her snogged by Dean, but that was about it.

"Dean, I'm trying to do research," she hissed at him, hoping her tone of voice would make him go away. However, it seemed Dean was weirdly turned-on by rejection.

"Mmm, research, baby, that's fantastic," he said into her hair, trying to kiss her again. "You smell great—is that the library that's doing that?"

"No, it's Madame Matilda's Magical Mesmerizing Love Perfume," Ginny replied promptly, reminding herself that she was never to wear it in Dean's presence again. Then again, if it had the same effect on the true object of her affections that it had on Dean, maybe she would start wearing it more often. "Now, seriously, Dean, back off. I'm never going to get the least amount of work done if you're sniffing around me all the time."

"And what're you working on, baby?" asked Dean, swaying from side to side behind her as she put another spell book back on the shelf. Ginny wondered if all the swaying would eventually make him nauseous.

"Dean, have you been drinking?" she asked.

"Maybe, maybe, my baby," he replied, chuckling into her ear. Ginny wanted to scream, but she hadn't yet forgotten that she was in a library, whereas Dean obviously had. "Now why don't you want to take this someplace more private?"

Ginny closed her eyes, rolled them, and then took a deep breath. It was her last resort. "You want to know why, Dean?" she sighed, giving him one last chance to take his drunken self and run. He nodded and she winced. "It's because I'm a lesbian. You heard that right. I am a lesbian. I am not interested in you because I want to have sex with women," she said flatly.

Dean cocked his head to one side curiously. "But, baby, Ginny-my-Ninny, I find that oh-so-hard to believe," he said.

Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Yeah, me too. Now get your sorry ass out of here before I tell everyone that you enjoy borrowing my lacy pink bras and wearing them in your spare time."

Drunk though he was, Dean knew to take this threat seriously and bolted.

Now Ginny was left in the library, completely unsure of what to do. She threw her hands up into the air and sank back onto the table, her head resting in one of the books. Then, after a quiet moment, Ginny raised her head. _Most Potente Potions_. She smiled to herself. "There's hope after all," she smiled, "there's hope after all…"

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I've updated after several years and ages and eras and several reversals of the earth's magnetic poles and ice ages and all other markers of time and by now the earth is probably being controlled by mad Prada-wearing space Aliens, right? This chapter's short on humor, but it's a bridge to where I'm going next in the mad, mad Potterverse. Well, I'm sorry I haven't updated, but I'm a horrid planner and up till now I had no idea what I wanted to come next until yesterday I was hit with a mad bolt of writer's lightning. I know what you're thinking: "Yeah, yeah, several ice ages too late." Forgive me? Liz, this is your late birthday present. 


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